


Language of Love

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Prompt Fills 2018 [19]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 10:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14447802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: The characters of Stargate in college in the early 2000s, before cell phones. Where romance and languages happen (and sometimes don't).





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the languages comment_fic prompt: "Any, any/any: Tutoring a crush in a foreign language as a way to get closer to them (e.g. Cameron and Bianca in 10 Things I Hate About You)."

Daniel Jackson owed Rodney, and he owed Rodney big, because Rodney was double-majoring in physics and mechanical engineering, and there was really no reason for him to be covering a tutoring shift at the language center. But Daniel was off at some fancy informational meeting for a chance to study abroad for the summer and work at a grown up dig in the burning sands of Egypt, and since Rodney was Canadian and also fluent in French, Rodney was the perfect candidate to cover one shift.

Just one.

Rodney had sat in the tutoring center and watched students drift in and out seeking help in Spanish and German and Russian and Japanese and Mandarin, but no one had come even close to his little two-person table with his little  _Bonjour! Je m’appelle Rodney! Je parle français!_ sign. (He would not have put an exclamation mark after his name, but the sign was fill-in-the-blank.)

There were precisely seven minutes left in his shift - he’d brought his thermodynamics textbook with him and gotten ahead on his reading - when a shadow finally fell over him.

He looked up, and - oh.

The guy standing over him was super cute, wearing a soft-knit gray wool sweater and a pair of blue jeans that showed off how narrow his hips were. The guy had messy dark hair that was a hundred cowlicks, narrow features, bright eyes, and a soft-looking mouth.

“Uh, hey,” the guy said. “You’re not Daniel.”

“No, but I am qualified to tutor you in French.” Rodney closed his textbook and set it aside. “So, what class are you in?”

“French 1010,” the guy said slowly.

“What are you having trouble with? Conjugations? Past tense? Perfect tense? Pluperfect tense? Imperfect tense? The subjunctive? Or do you just need someone to review vocab with you on flashcards?”

The guy stared at him for a long moment. Then he finally said, “All of it.”

Rodney stared at him right back. “It’s halfway through the semester.”

The guy plunked down in the chair opposite Rodney and scooted close; their knees brushed under the suddenly far too small and intimate desk. “Well, that’s why I’m here. For help. Finally admitting defeat. Need all the help I can get.”

“Where are you in the textbook?” Rodney asked. “I’m Rodney, by the way.”

“John,” the guy said. He dug around in his backpack, came up with a very battered, obviously used copy of the beginner-level textbook. “We’re in chapter five, but I just - don’t get. Languages.”

“So where should we start?”

John bit his lip for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Um...chapter two?”

Rodney would have had a serious freak-out if he’d said chapter one, but this was the only time he was going to cover, so -

John flipped the textbook open to the appropriate chapter with quick, dexterous hands, then turned the book around for Rodney to see. He leaned in at the same time as Rodney did, and they almost bumped heads.

John jerked back sharply. “Sorry! Sorry.” He reached out, almost like he was going to touch Rodney, then let his hand fall to his lap.

“It’s fine,” Rodney said. “So, verb conjugations. The first regular verb is  _aimer,_  to like. Do you know all the conjugations?”

As it turned out, John knew the conjugations pretty well, but his pronunciation was absolutely abysmal. His mouth was mesmerizing, though.

“I will grant you,” Rodney said, “that some of the spelling versus pronunciation rules in French are strange - after all, why don’t you pronounce the -ent in  _aiment?_  But they’re never broken, so if you memorize them now, it’ll serve you down the road. And there really is no way to get by but memorizing.”

John nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Do you have flashcards?”

John shook his head.

Rodney twisted around, scanned the bookshelves behind him, and then his watch beeped. Right. Time was up. “Listen, my official tutoring hour is done, but -”

John started to stand.

“But I can stay a little longer, if you need it.”

John wet his lips, thinking. “I - I guess I do need it. Thanks.” He smile at Rodney then, and his smile was startlingly sweet, because his mouth looked like it was made for smirking.

Rodney stayed an extra half hour, drilling John on flashcards he found on the shelf. That it took John half an hour to really get the pronunciation down was disheartening, because Rodney liked his boys smart as well as sexy, but - 

It wasn’t like he was ever going to see John again anyway. He was never covering for Daniel again. He should have been in the lab supervising experiments.

“Thanks so much for your help,” John said. He shook Rodney’s hand, then gathered up the textbook and flashcards, promised to return them. 

“You’re welcome,” Rodney said, and then, because John was unfairly hot, “if you ever need more help with your French, you can call me.” And he handed John a little sticky note with his phone number on it.

John’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, okay. I’d really appreciate it. See you soon, Rodney.” John folded the note so the number was visible, slipped it into his wallet, and then headed for the door. He paused at the door, waved, and then ducked out.

Dammit.

What the hell was Rodney thinking?

Rodney was thinking that John Sheppard was super hot, and for an hour once a week he got to sit across from John in the cafeteria and be the sole focus of his attention, got to stare at his mouth (to correct his pronunciation, of course) and find out about him and the things he liked (math, Ferris wheels, fast cars, college football) under the guise of practicing their conversational French.

Unfortunately, John never showed more than a strictly academic interest in Rodney, and more than once a pretty dark-skinned, light-haired girl stopped by and said hello to John, looked very puzzled that he was spending time with Rodney, and Rodney deeply suspected that the girl was John’s girlfriend even though John always insisted his study time was important and he would see her later.

When finals arrived, Rodney looked at his exam schedule and saw that his final for thermodynamics was at the same time as his tutoring session with John. He had to track John down, tell him that they either needed to cancel or reschedule. He headed back to the dorms to find John’s phone number - and then he saw John talking to that pretty girl, Twyla or Teela or whoever, and he veered across the quad toward them.

“I do not understand why you persist with Rodney,” she said.

John sighed. “I know. My time with him is pointless.”

Rodney drew up short, outraged. He’d worked damn hard to tutor John, had come up with lesson plans and drills and even made him custom flashcards.

“Then you must be honest with him,” the girl said. “You are wasting your time and his.”

John scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I can’t. Every time I see him, I just - freeze up.”

Was John  _afraid_  of him? Was that why he was always so perfectly polite and impersonal?

“He will find out sooner or later,” the girl said.

Find out what? Rodney wondered. He hovered just behind a large potted ficus. It wasn’t good cover, but given that they weren’t expecting him, they probably wouldn’t notice him.

“When he speaks to Professor Clark and finds out you have tested out of the class, he will learn how you deceived him, and he will be very angry that you wasted his time.”

“I know, I know!” John threw his hands up.

Wait, what? John had  _tested out_  of French 1010?

“I just - I was going to ask Daniel about getting the test-out exam and Rodney was there instead and he’s  _so hot_  I can barely talk -”

“John. You started learning French when you were six. You are practically bilingual.”

John was fluent in French? Rodney had started learning French at the same age, and he was bilingual. This entire time, John had been  _playing dumb_  with him.

But then Rodney replayed John’s last sentence. John thought he was hot.

Time to make himself known.

“Hey, John.” Rodney stepped out from behind the plant.

John swore in French and spun around, startled. “Jeez! Don’t  _do_  that. Oh, hey, Rodney. What’s up? We still on for tutoring?”

“No,” Rodney said, and he was terribly pleased when John’s expression fell. “I have a final exam at the same time.” And then he said, in rapid French,  _“But as I understand it, you don’t really need my help, do you?”_

John’s went pale. “You heard. How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know that you’ve been wasting not just your time but my time.”

John wet his lips; it was a nervous tic that was unfairly sexy. “Rodney, I’m really sorry -”

“You should be,” Rodney said, “because if you’d just told me the truth, we could’ve been doing far more interesting things in French besides talking.”

John’s eyes went wide. “Oh?”

Rodney leaned in and whispered in John’s ear, “Since you like math, how do you feel about a little  _soixante-neuf?”_

The girl said, “I will leave you two alone. Perhaps you should get a room, no?”

“Later, Teyla,” John said faintly. He smiled at Rodney. “She’s right, though. Where’s your room?”

Rodney showed him.

And then they just didn’t speak for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the language comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, Rodney sometimes slips into French when he's feeling amorous."

John was staring at the latest set of problems from his differential equations class when Rodney came through the front door. He set his book bag on the counter and crossed their little apartment, sat down on the couch beside John.

“Hey,” John said absently.

“Hey,” Rodney said. Then he snuggled a little closer and nuzzled John’s jaw the way Schrodinger the cat did. He was tired and had had a bad day and wanted attention.

John closed his textbook and notebook, set them on the coffee table, turned to Rodney. “Long day at the lab?”

“Other people are stupid,” Rodney grumbled, wrapping his arms around John and burying his face against John’s throat.

John pressed a kiss to his hair, smoothed a hand up and down his back. “Yes they are.” He pulled back, peered at Rodney, then ducked his head and caught Rodney’s mouth in a welcome home kiss.

Rodney hummed happily into John’s mouth, holding him tighter. 

When they finally parted for air, Rodney whispered,  _“Tu es beau. Je t’aime.”_

French. Rodney was breaking out the French. John knew what French meant. 

He whispered back,  _“Il y a longtemps que je t’aime. Jamais je ne t’oublierai.”_

Rodney kissed him again, then pulled back just enough to say,  _“Je suis tombée de toi.”_

John had fallen for Rodney the first day they met. He rose, pulled Rodney with him, held him tightly and kissed him again, hot and filthy, all roaming hands and twining tongues, bodies pressed together, heat building between them.

John whispered against Rodney’s throat,  _“Je suis chaud.”_

Rodney nodded, started tugging John toward the bedroom.  _“Moi aussi.”_

They fumbled to undress each other, and then they were kneeling on the bed together, kissing and caressing. Rodney was touching John’s body everywhere, following each touch with a kiss, a lick, a nibble, and murmured words that sent John’s pulse higher and higher.

_“Je veux ton corps. J’adore ta bouche. J’ai besoin de vous, j’ai besoin de ta peau -”_

John silenced him with a kiss, lay back, guided Rodney on top of him.  _“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ces soir?”_

Rodney paused. “Wait, what?” He burst out laughing.

John sighed. “I can’t  _think_  when you get like that, all right?” He wrapped his arms around Rodney and held him while he shook with laughter.

“All those years of French and that’s the best you can do? Song lyrics?”

“It works most of the time,” John muttered. He patted Rodney’s back. “I think we established pretty early on in our relationship that when you’re super hot I just can’t talk, all right?”

Rodney pressed a kiss to his jaw, nodding. “True.”

“But it’s so damn hot when you speak French that I can’t - and the best way to keep you speaking French is to reply in French. And then you had to go and ruin the mood.”

Rodney lifted his head. “Are you pouting? You’re pouting.” He leaned up, kissed John on the mouth, worrying at the soft purse of his lips till John parted his lips and let Rodney taste him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.  _Et oui, je veux coucher avec toi ce soir.”_

_“Merci beaucoup._  Now hurry up and fuck me already. It’s been a long day for both of us and I’m horny.”

Rodney said,  _“Oui, monsieur,”_  and reached across to the nightstand for condoms and lube. “In English, though? Really?”

“My tutors didn’t teach me how to say that in French,” John protested.

“Well,” Rodney said, “allow me to teach you. With a practical demonstration, just so the lesson really  _sinks in.”_  He rolled his hips downward for emphasis.

“Anything you say,  _Mon professeur.”_

_“Excellent, mon amour.”_

There was a whole lot of demonstrating and learning that night.

And the next morning.

And again after lunch.

And then during John’s final exam his pencil snapped in half and skewered his hand and he said,  _Oh, fuck me,_  in perfect French, and his professor looked scandalized.


End file.
